Gray Blue Golden
by Li Kayun
Summary: Reincarnation fic - It's raining... I know. It's always raining. You look a lot like him, you know? Almost the same. Almost.
1. Yellowish-Gray

Disclaimer: I do not own Suikoden. 

A/N: Sort of AU fic that is…somewhat different. People hardly read any Suikoden fiction anyway. Hero Mcdohl will be referred to as his default name Tir. 

This centers on Tir Mcdohl, Gremio, etc. around the idea that if Tir never gave up the Soul Eater, and the Suikoden world evolved technologically as ours did, then there would have to be a time when Tir lived in a somewhat modern world. 

Gray Blue Golden

Part 1 // Yellowish-Gray

    And now she wakes to another gray day
    In the Big Blue World
    And her room's a tiny cage
    For a golden bird.
    - Chris Mosdell

"It's raining."

"I know." He answered. "It's always raining." 

Of course it was raining. The bleak, painted sky tended to pent out its sorrows with the rain, wheeze its cries in the wind. Pitter-patters and dulled splashes could drown the world of its pains, or numb them at the least. It tended to cry for sorrows long past that no one tried to remember and therefore it tended to cry for him. Such passed the days, second by second, spring by snow, now by then.

Today was different. 

There had been someone to tread upon his spider web troubles. There had been someone who, three minutes or three years ago he couldn't tell, had happened to chance upon a musty alley and saw a boy perched upon a royal cardboard box. There had been someone who had stumbled into a dripping silence and saw a pair of golden eyes that were not really golden. In fact, they were a dull shade of bronze, weathered with lives past. 

Such was the setting – a rumbling silence in a silhouetted alleyway where a man had happened to find a boy amidst his own shadow and it was raining, always raining. "You can't stay out here forever, you know. There will be creatures roaming the streets. You'll catch pneumonia. Shouldn't you be going home to your family?"

"I should, I suppose." And the boy shuffled, buried his head in his arms. 

The child was not a beggar. He wore clothes of foreign and forgotten origins that he had been perfectly fitted into. They looked old but not tattered, soft but not worn. They were embroidered with strange, ancient care. Why, the child looked like a character out of a fairytale, clothes, eyes, and all! So the child was not a beggar.

The man became cautious from beneath his white umbrella. "Do you have a family that lives here? They must be worried." 

The boy's gaze was addictive. It captured the man's attention the moment it revealed itself from behind a tangle of eyelids and darkness. They were bronzed but golden, like treasure, like sunshine, like fool's gold. And so, as the boy looked up at him, the man found himself snagged like a hare. 

It must have been the mystery, the forbidden, untouchable air around him, but whatever it was, the man had no chance to run away. He never had the chance, it was too fated. 

The boy said with a decrepit voice, "I will not catch pneumonia." 

The man knew that his question was of family, and not of pneumonia. "Oh, I see." He agreed, composed. "Are you sure? You're only a boy, and wearing short sleeves at that. It's raining pretty hard; you'll be soaked by the time the storm is over. Maybe you can find a shelter somewhere where it isn't raining on you. If not pneumonia, you'll catch a cold for sure."

This was somehow uncannily amusing, for the child gave a chuckle though his shoulders wouldn't shake. It was not laughter, only amusement. Never the less, the boy said somewhat-blithely, "That's right. I'm only a boy." 

The amusement died down quicker than a burning candle in a lake. It faded into nothing other than levelled, reluctant breathing and again the pittering of rain. It had been so short, and the boy's cheer had been such a bright sound compared to the sonorous still, that the man was discouraged with a discouragement that, however, did not prevent him from saying, "Are you alright?"

A pause lacking of hesitation and the child answered, "Not really."

"You need to get out of the rain." 

"Yes." The boy answered immediately, soft and unhesitant, "I do." That made the second time the child had said something he would not do. 

Not to be ruffled, the man patiently waited to launch a better approach. During this time, the boy took three glances at him. The first time, the child noticed the sun ray hair. The second, he saw ocean eyes, and the third he saw a perfect cheek and this scared him and disappointed him at the same time. The fourth time he saw nothing.

Through some divine force of nature, or out of the unforgiving and flawed compassion amidst the human heart, the boy noticed that there was no one standing on the sidewalk anymore. Again there was the pattering of rain and muggy silence. But alas, he was not cold! He was not wet and he was not alone.

This was so, because there was an umbrella over his head. 

The voice that played from beside him, from a mouth that he could see without looking, from under a white umbrella into the relentless rain, was beautiful. It said, "You are the one who has always been calling me." 

The staring reply was frighteningly bright for a denial. "No. That's not true." 

"Don't lie. You're a bad liar." The man answered sternly, albeit with care.

Still the boy answered in a denial that was not panicked. It seemed relieved in truth, as if a million years were waited for this denial alone. "I haven't. I honestly haven't. I don't know what you're talking about. I've never called anyone. I don't know who you are."

"You honestly were very hard to find, but you must forgive me for taking so long to find you. I must be rather late." 

The man continued and he continued in reassurance after reassurance that was eaten, spoonful by spoonful, letter by letter because honestly the boy was starved of such. When he finished, the boy said nothing, did nothing. Instead, the child stared out into the street at something far away, at something untouchable that was suddenly a thousand miles closer and repeated half-heartedly, "No. I haven't at all." 

"It's alright, because I'm here now."

This time, the rain faded to bright silence, the water into mist, and the denial into nothing. So this time, Tir gave a nothing little laugh as the edges of the white umbrella dripped with the sky's collective tears that fell to the ground and died. After this nothing little laugh, came nothing at all but a soft whisper. 

"I honestly haven't." which was accompanied with the slightest, most inaudible little reminder that burrowed through thoughts to shout gleefully, _It's been …so long!_

"It's a good thing that the rain stopped. You might have caught pneumonia."

"I wouldn't have caught pneumonia." Came the reply, though indeed it was a good thing that the rain had stopped pouring. Such a good thing it was because that would mean sunshine would come and dance above the remnants of the rain and it would make rainbows, illusions. There would be no more thunder to boom into deaf ears, no more lightning to frighten the blind. 

"Maybe, but it's necessary to take precautions, especially when your health is in concern." The man said, as he heaved with great strength a pot of whatnot that still boiled. It seemed hot but deliciously tempting. Tir could hear the hiss of steam and the bubble of liquid behind the metal. He reached out to touch it, and was reprimanded with, "No, please don't touch it! It's very hot! You'll burn yourself!"

As his stare wavered from pot to man, Tir let his hand drop limply to his lap. Maybe he had no share of it. It did not belong to him, after all. Curiously then, he said, "I'm sorry. What is it?" 

The man's gaze softened oceans into waves. He was wonderful when he smiled, and smiled he did. With great care, as if he held a newborn with his words, the man said softly, "Sorry if I startled you. It's something warm. Stew. I made it for you. I thought you might be hungry. You look awfully skinny that I decided you possibly can't be very healthy." 

"You thought I would be hungry." Tir repeated, lowering his eyes, though he still felt the wave of humid air grazing his cheek as the pot was uncovered and the lid set on the table. It felt godly wonderful, having something warm in front of him like that. Dutifully, there came the customary "Thank you," leaving his mouth before anything else.

"Nonsense. I owe it to you."

"What?" he questioned, less courteously, since manners were things easily forgotten and sentiments bound to replace them as quickly as a brink sinks to the lake's floor. "You owe it to me? You don't owe me anything. I don't even know you or your name." He stopped then, because his voice had begun to weakly trail off.

This occupied the man for the grand total of two seconds, in which he came up with the satisfactory answer, "I don't know yours either. That doesn't matter though. But if you do insist, what is your name?" 

There came a searing, however controllable pain that infected the palm of his right hand. Tir had become so accustomed to it that it felt like no more than a sting to him, a nuisance, however life-supporting. Yet it came in tides of want and desire that even Tir flinched and drew his arm closer to his body. So, because of this, Tir looked up at the man with something that resembled hope and said, "I can't tell you that. You can call me 'Boy' if you need a name."

"Boy?"

"Yes." Tir said, conclusively.

"Oh. I understand." 

Though obviously disappointed, which Tir could tell because of the way golden brows knitted themselves together in worry, the man nodded. For this, Tir breathed the breath that had begun to cling to his chest and nodded also in confirmation. This man's company was enjoyable. It was quiet, comfortable, and devoid of prodding sticks that were too sharp, silence that was too heavy for any shoulders to possibly bear. 

"What is your name then?" 'Boy' asked politely.

"Well," the man said plainly, "I'm not telling you either, until you tell me yours. You know, I'm not going to kill you or make you do physical labor." He said, launching himself into a long and tedious explanation. "I'm only trying to help you. It'd be nice to know your name. I'm not evil or the like. Until then, you can call me anything you wish, as long as it is not completely belittling me…" 

"Sir." Tir called.

"I'd prefer something less formal than that." The man said, bobbing his head.

"Sir." Tir said, a little more urgently.

"I told you that I don't like that."

"Sir, the pot is beginning to burn your table." Tir said, amused. He was even more amused when 'Sir' leapt up from his seat with great…vigor and lifted the pot with his bare hands only to find that his hands were bare and very, very hot, which caused him to prance into the kitchen to set the pot upon the stove top and find refuge for his hands in running cold water. When he appeared again, his hair was disheveled, his appearance askew. 

Sir said bluntly, "You weren't listening to a thing I was saying, were you?" 

Tir traced his gloved finger over the circular mark that had singed itself into the polished wood. As he heard himself being addressed, he looked up with half his attention that was missing its other half because the burn mark seemed more interesting. "I was listening." He nodded to Sir. "I heard what you said, but everything's not so easy like that." 

The floor creaked. "Easy?"

"It would be nice if it were, though." Tir elaborated, reposed against a cushion that was too soft, under a light that was too bright. However, he was uncannily comfortable in a place that came as close to the feeling of home as possible. "If water was blue and blood was red, it'd be simple. But water isn't really blue and blood isn't really red." 

"Yes it is." Sir said sonorously, but only because he didn't couldn't fathom something otherwise. "Water is blue and blood is red to those who believe it is so, and card dealers always have another Ace up their sleeve and the sky is blue. It's very limpid, easy to understand." 

The boy's smile was dazzling, painted and superficial. The slightest curve of his lips, the glazing of his eyes gave him the look that could have bought trust by the bushel, and trust it did, but only many, many years ago when people were trustworthy. Yet it was such a sad pretty thing, like the captured firefly that shines like pearls in its glass container only to die in the morning. Sir wished he did not even smile at all.

"The sky isn't blue." Boy said, placid. Tir's left hand was rubbing the back of his right palm, slowly without his notice. "It is yellowish-gray." 

"Yellowish-gray?" Sir said assiduously.

"Yes. The color it is when it rains, since it's always raining." 

Sir had tried awfully hard with his bare hands and teeth to tear down the fortress of the mighty castle. Of course, he did not expect the walls to come tumbling down at his very touch. However, he did suspect that, even if chipping away each and every stone with a nail and hammer, the stones would crumble into dust and the highest tower would be climbable. 

Sir nodded and for this Tir said, "You don't understand, Sir."

"No." Sir admitted shamelessly, but honestly. He let the formal address pass his ears, but only once, he told himself, only once. "But I'll try to for you." 

Tir could only offer him the pained smile since it was the only thing he could give. It was a horrible gift, he knew, but it was close to being wonderful. It was so close that it was leagues away. This man had given him more than he had been given in a thousand years. His words were not abundant, but they were true. "That's very good enough, Sir. That's very, very good. Thank you." 

Sir let that one pass his ears too. "Stew."

Boy blinked once, twice. "Stew?"

The man rose, sauntered into the kitchen and called, "You want stew?" And Tir agreed and stew was served. When Sir told him to eat, Tir ate, basking in the warmth of being under a ceiling, the calmness of company, under a light that was too bright, on a cushion that was too soft. 

When the bowl was half empty, Tir looked up slowly and said, "Sir."

"Yes?" the man responded.

Tir studied his face with warily and with great care. The man noticed that the spoon was still balanced between thin, pale fingers. The boy's eyes caught on every crook, every nanny hidden on the silken skin. He seemed lonely then, as he gazed up with wide, innocent and aged eyes, lonely and forlorn. He was looking for something he could not find. Finally, he said, "You look a lot like him, you know. Almost the same as him." 

Sir stood and made his way into the kitchen without stumbling. "I'll try to understand that too." he said. Then, blissful silence.

Still, Tir heard his own feet shuffling, the dripping of the wet umbrella in the bathtub and the creaking of the wooden floor. He heard a different sort of silence that was set apart from other silences because it was the silence of two people and it was not suffocating. He heard the beating of the living heart, but it was hardly audible, and there was only one heart that was really alive. 

And he heard no pittering, pattering of the tearful rain.


	2. Empyrean Blue

A/N: Gremio. It was Gremio and he is missing his scar for a reason.

Gray and Blue and Golden

Part 2 // Empyrean Blue

"Hi there." 

Oh, for shame. He hadn't even heard anyone approaching. He opened his eyes, lifted his head – ebony locks and all. It felt strangely light without the weight of his bandanna. Sir didn't permit him to slip it on; claiming it was a dirty mangled piece of cloth in dire need of soap and water. 

However, persuading Sir that he did not suffer from pneumonia was a much easier task. Seizing the chance, Tir had wisped out of the apartment, into the streets and right into the midst of a sunshine mottled park, which was where he was currently being greeted.

He answered, "Hello."

The stranger took that as an invitation and thus the empty wind-blown space beside him was occupied by a boy under cropped caramel hair. Tir had only glanced at him once in the crisp shade of a beech tree. The air was not humid, was not hot. The breeze was cool and not suffocating. Yet, it was hard to breathe and his breath caught involuntarily in his throat.

"Hey, you alright?" the stranger asked, leaning over to see his face. Tir coughed and went through a pitiful series of futile nods. Stranger had wonderful eyes. "Are you choking? Do you want some water? There's a water fountain over there." 

"Fine." He croaked. It must have been the dry air. It was only the dry air, that's all. It couldn't have possibly been anymore than that. "Fine. I'm fine." 

"Well, if you're sure…" but Stranger trailed off, eyes still lingering. He was not as gullible as Sir, Tir supposed, and tried even harder to elude him. His coughing fit disappeared as quickly as it had come. It left nothing but a bit of an ache in the back of his throat that he didn't feel at all. There was nothing more than that, no doubt or second thought. He blamed it on the dry air, blamed it on things that couldn't be blamed.

When Stranger was finally convinced that Tir was not going to dehydrate and shrivel like a weed, he relaxed and occupied himself with allowing the wind to lap across his cheeks. It would have been perfectly peaceful, perfectly evading fateful events if Stranger had not piped up three minutes later. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Tir turned to him, answered and watched as Stranger studied him. "What makes you think that?"

"Well," Stranger contemplated, giving a half-hearted shrug, "Your clothes don't look like the ones I'm used to seeing. You look foreign and a little lost. And, you look like a fighter. There aren't many fighters left in Gregminster these days, it's more of a political headquarters. Most fighters, if any, leave for the other cities or go travelling by themselves."

"Oh." Tir said, watching as a little boy on a bicycle raced away from irresponsible parents. "I fight…sometimes, when I have nothing better to do. It wastes the time."

The other boy seemed to think about this for a grand total of three seconds before he spoke again. "Are you lost then?" 

"Not really."

"Do you want me to show you around?" Stranger asked, implacable. For a moment, Tir thought he had said that he _wasn't_ lost, but the inviting smile on Stranger's face seemed to tell him otherwise. He also had every notion to repeat what he said, but then again, there was nothing to do, he didn't know this Gregminster like he knew his Gregminster since it had changed so many times, and he was a little bit…lonely. Just a little.

"Where will we go?"

Stranger brightened, stood and thought. "We can go to the practice area around here. Even if there's no fighters, there's still an old abandoned field where some people play around and learn. We can practice together, if you want to. It won't be too crowded. People hardly go there at all, especially not this early. I was looking for someone to practice with anyway." He stopped rambling and looked down at Tir. Hopefully, "Do you want to go?"

"To practice?"

"If you want to, of course."

For a moment Tir said nothing. There was a vague little voice in the back of his head telling him something about Stranger that he couldn't hear. It smoked out of his head when he stood and looked levelly forward. Someone meant a person to practice with, no more poking and slashing at empty air. Someone meant chasing away loneliness, or at least someone to be lonely with. It was such an impossible thought that Tir said, "Let's go." 

And they went. Stranger led him through crowded streets and intersections and alleyways. The farther they went, the less people there were, until they reached a secluded grass field surrounded by towering, ghostly buildings that shunned the pretty field with their brick and stone backs. It was cool there, a small afternoon breeze raced through the field, bit at their ankles. It smelled like old bricks and grass, like sunshine and rain.

It was the prettiest place Tir had ever seen.

"This is it." Stranger said. "No one's here yet, because most of them are probably at school."

Tir's eyes wandered to him, like it did every so often since the morning. "Why aren't you at school, then?"

Stranger looked a little sheepish, began tapping his foot against the grassy floor. "I dunno. I'm not exactly the most eager of students when it comes to geometry and literature. Something just told me that it'd be better to stay home today. That sounded like really good advice to me, and now I'm sure it is!"

Tir began to wander, or at least seemed to wander. His weapon was left at home where Sir was sure he couldn't cause any trouble with it, or so he said. Tir hadn't the will to fight against that. He began to search the outskirts of the field for any long and somewhat sturdy item he could use as a makeshift weapon. Anything would do, really. It was only practice, against someone who probably didn't fight that well.

Idly, Tir said, "Why are you so sure?"

Stranger had found a pile of old metal tubes, all which remained from a ransacked fence. As he took one briskly for himself, he tossed another over to Tir with his free hand. It was coupled with another smile. Stranger smiled a lot, it was a nice thing to see. "Well, I found someone to practice with, and met someone who probably isn't as empty-headed as he acts and is probably worth fighting, unlike most of the people in this city." 

"For your safety," Tir said calmly, although obviously amused. It had been a long time, since he was amused. It was such a wonderful feeling, since he had forgotten it long ago. "I will assume that you aren't referring to me." 

Stranger stopped, smiled again. "You're better this way."

"Better?" Tir said, gripping the metal tube with his gloved hands. He steadied himself on his feet, balanced as a cat. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, at least you're not always frowning inside like you were this morning." Stranger explained, readying himself as well. Had Tir been that obvious, that easily read? The way he stood reminded Tir of someone, of something that he just couldn't remember. It unsettled him the smallest bit, but disappeared when Stranger came charging, and their weapons met. The sound of metal against metal echoed off the shadowy walls, back to their ears. 

Tir said nothing, but even Stranger knew that he had heard, because his eyes were bright gold with something other than battle, and the silence that was interrupted by the occasional "clang" was not a deadly one. They moved like the wind, fought like thunder. 

"You're a fighter." Tir said, after they both retreated from another clash. 

Stranger was breathing hard, his bangs clinging to his forehead. His chest heaved occasionally. So evenly matched were they, that even Tir began to doubt the reality of it all. Neither would fall or crumble, there would be no real victory in this fight. It was a fact that Tir had not realized for decades, for centuries. This blood rushing through his limbs and the excitement, the suspense of a real battle that he had the possibility of losing! 

And then it began to burn. 

Tir crumbled to the ground, holding his hands and pushing them to the ground. Shoulders shaking and racked with heavy breathing, the makeshift weapon fell to he ground without a sound, cushioned by the waves of wind-blown grass. He could hear the faint sound of Stranger approaching, saying, "Are you alright? What's wrong?" 

He hated it. He had always, always hated it. He didn't mind its presence, didn't mind its searing pain, and didn't mind its unquenched hunger. He minded what it did to him, what it did to other people, the fact he couldn't stop it if it began. Tir shied away from Stranger's outstretched hand, not wincing but aching as if burning in flames of hell. His face remained painfully straight and neutral.

"Please…go away." He rasped.

"What?" Stranger questioned with confusion in his eyes. "Do you need help?"

There was no time for explanations. "Just…leave me alone for a moment. I'll be fine. Just…go away for a while. I'll…call you back when I'm fine. It's nothing…at all…"

Tir prayed that Stranger understood and much to his relief, the brown-haired boy nodded numbly, took a few steps backward and then spun around to run at least a few meters from him. It was doubtful if Stranger understood the situation, but he seemed to know that whatever it was, it was better to listen than to ask. That was all Tir asked for, as a small wave of relief swept over him before the pain began to cease. Its hunger was always temporary, but always unquenched. He supposed that the souls of the nocturnal monsters in the wild were tiring it. 

When Tir called Stranger back, the boy's expression was easier to read than a book. Stranger was completely baffled and maybe even scared, but before he opened his mouth, Tir, who stared at the ground with empty plain eyes, said, "Don't ask."

"Wh...what?" Stranger stuttered, unable to control the flow of his voice.

He stepped back when Tir looked up at him. He was so ghostly pale and dead looking, as if someone had killed him centuries ago. "Don't."

"Alright." Stranger said, holding out his hand again. "I'll help you up." 

The hand was met and greeted with feeble empty air. Tir stood up, stumbled back, stumbled forward, sort of looked at Stranger with this semi-apologetical look. His hands wrung themselves together in front of him, as if one kept the other as a captive. "No." he said, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn't quite fit too well with his eyes, deep and blank and empty. It was such a false look, but it would have to do for the time being. "It's alright." 

Stranger said nothing except; "You have to go now, don't you?" It was a statement, not a question. 

Tir nodded and stared at the ground intently. He doubted if he should drag his gaze up again to meet Stranger's eyes. There might be doubt there, might be fear or scorn. He kicked the metal fence post away from him, turned and shuffled through the wild, untended tall grass. It would end here. It would have to end here. Soul Eater made sure of that; it was so strict. 

Yet, it seemed so close when Stranger called to him, "Thanks again, for practicing with me. I hope you feel better, it'll be alright! I don't think I can help you, but it'll certainly be alright. Hey! What is your name?" 

Tir stopped walking, but didn't turn to face him. He wondered if he should speak. That dull aching that wasn't quite so dull in the palm of his hand might show in his voice. But, questions were to be answered. "My name…you can call me anything you want. I haven't got a name." He lied. 

Stranger stared at his back. "Oh. That's alright." He replied softly, not quite understanding, not quite satisfied. Tir had begun to walk away again, so he began to yell, just to ensure that Tir heard him. "Hey! If you ever want to practice again, I'll wait in the park for you! My name is Ted!"

Tir kept walking, clutching his wrist until his fingers turned blue. 


	3. The Boy in the Rain

Disclaimer: Has been stated and therefore will not be stated again, heh.

Gray Blue Golden

Part 3 The Boy in the Rain

The evening was cool because the year was nearing autumn. His fingers tugged at the hem of his glove to ensure that it would not slip off. The piece of cloth was tight however; clean and smelling of spring flowers from the wash. It was also stiff, because Tir had persuaded Sir to give it to him before he could iron it. He pulled at the glove every few seconds anyway.

The park was not quite as beautiful at night, but it held its own aura. The streetlights were dim and yellow, casting eerie shadows from the smallest of figures. Leaves lay strewn on the ground with natural grace, not quite as crisp as one would hope leaves would be in fall. The wind was strong; it threw his bangs about his face and tore a red blush from his cheeks.

He knew that it was probably too late in the day to wait for Ted, but he had nothing better to do, and he had to think without being offered food every half an hour. So, he had left the house, weaved through people, and had come to sit in the same exact bench as he did yesterday.

Ted would understand, because Ted had always understood. Tir only wished that the Soul Eater would and he wished such with such fierce desire that it pained him. It would not succumb, he knew. He wondered how long it would last, this happy sort of interlude, before it faded away and everyone was dead again. All the while, the rune in his head kept hissing, "Soon, soon."

There was someone approaching. There were leaves crackling under a careless foot. The night had stilled so suddenly and so silently he could have laughed aloud, just to break the nothingness that pounded at his ears. He paid no notice until someone approached him, sat a little to the left of where Ted had sat, and greeted him with a shy, "Hello."

To this, he responded dully, "Hello."

It was a girl who sat herself beside him in the same exact spot Ted had occupied the previous day. She was young and she was lively, her eyes were bright and her short, cropped hair as dark as twilight. He did not look at her, but he knew because every so often, she would fidget and he would glimpse her out of the corner of his eye.

To his great relief, she didn't waste her time with small talk. She merely sat in the shared silence of thought and she became distant, not paying any attention to him or the envious fall setting that enveloped her. She was very much like him in that aspect, thinking of her own affairs and forgetting the world. Tir felt very comfortable in her company that was hardly there.

That was all this was – an interlude, the short period of time before two events. Soon, everyone would grow old and everyone would die. He wondered if this was all just a mistake, if he should run away before he could love anyone honestly enough to regret letting go. Maybe he should just slip off and hide in some alley where some Sir couldn't find him, where some Stranger wouldn't greet him.

Oh, but he didn't want to. It was so wonderful, knowing that they were there again, knowing that even if they were taken way, they were still here for whatever brief time span fate allowed. It was splendid to be able to look at them again, and though it was aggravating that he could only stare and not blurt out stories of many lives past, he was content – something he had forgotten.

His thumb rubbed the palm of his other hand, stirring warmth and irrepressible hunger as his eyes stared off into many years past. It would be nice, you know, if you just set me free, he thought. If you could just move on and not cling to me, if I could just find someone as innocent and willing as I was to take this curse. If you could just _die_, what an impossible thought.

There was no escape, he couldn't even try. He just lingered between alive and dead, with no real purpose than to feed the Soul Eater, no real reason to stay. He was accustomed to this fact, usually didn't pay it much heed, because though Soul Eater was cruel, it was company, and at the very least he wasn't alone. Yet now he wanted more than just the Soul Eater for companionship.

I wish I were alone.

"Pardon?" said the girl, and Tir realized he had half-whispered out the last stray thought. She drew away from him, preparing to leave.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean you had to leave. I was just thinking out loud." Tir assured her, and she seated herself again, a rosy blush advancing on her pale skin. She couldn't be very young, but her face was childish, retained features of youth and childhood. She would be quite stunning if she were not bundled up in so many red coats and scarves as she was now.

"Oh, thank you. You just said you wanted to be alone, so I thought that I was intruding." She glanced at him, suspicious and disbelieving. "But if you were thinking that, you must want me to leave anyway. It really isn't a bother, you know, I'll just go and sit on that other bench a few blocks down if you want to think on your own."

"No, really, I wasn't talking about you."

"I'm the only one here, how could you not be talking about me?"

Smiling, Tir repeated, "I wasn't talking about you. Please stay."

She flushed and meekly said, "Are you sure? I mean, I could…"

"Very sure." Tir said. "Stay."

She folded her thin hands on her lap and leaned back into the bench. Her breath came out as thin wisps that faded away. She kept on looking at her feet, at the floor, at a common knot on the side of the adjacent tree. Her legs would shift away, then shift back again, as if she couldn't decide whether or not to leave. In the end, however, she stilled, left herself on the bench, and resumed thinking.

This park was cursed, Tir thought, cursed with abnormally familiar people.

After a while, the afternoon light disappeared behind the horizon, and they were left in the dark. The streetlights flickered on, one after another until the scene that greeted Tir's eyes were of an abandoned, windy walkway scattered with fallen leaves and lighted with dull yellow streetlights every few yards. Still, the girl did not leave. She still sat, as quiet and unmoving like stone and only her eyes, which occasionally looked his way, betrayed that she was alive.

After a while, she said, "Are you alright?"

Without looking at her, Tir replied, "What makes you think I'm not?"

She shrugged shyly. "I don't know. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that you seem like you're very sad, and thinking about sad thoughts, and sad people with sad thoughts alone tend to do crazy things, especially when it's late and when it's dark, so…oh, but I'm not saying your crazy! I mean, you don't look crazy, so I'm not insulting you, but if you are crazy, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with crazy people, and…"

He chuckled, turned to her and her eyes widened and looked away. "I'm alright," he said. "Not all sad people do crazy things. I don't believe I will be doing any crazy things soon, so there's no need to worry. I just take longer to think than most people do."

"Yes, I suppose not." She nodded. Hesitantly, she offered softly, "Well, if you want, you can tell me about it. I won't know what you're talking about, and I won't know how to help, but I can most certainly listen."

He shook his head slowly. "No, it's alright. I don't think I'll bother anyone else with my problems. But, you're here, and you've probably got your own troubles, so you don't have to worry about me." He tugged at the hem of his glove one last time, stood and straightened. After the first step he took, he found that she was staring after him. "You really don't have to worry."

She smiled softly, and she was very beautiful. "I'm not worrying, but I hope you will be alright." And then she became embarrassed, and turned away, fingers folding and tangling with each other. "Oh, but forgive me, I didn't mean to poke into your business. You just seemed so familiar and I wanted to help, but I don't suppose I've helped any…I'll…just leave now too. Goodbye." Hastily, she disappeared into the night.

She had left her scarf sitting on the bench, forgotten it in her hurry, but he didn't pick it up. He didn't want to, because he knew that if he did, he would find a tag with a name that he already knew and wished desperately he could forget. Tomorrow morning, she would return to retrieve it anyway.

When he returned, Sir was waiting for him, sitting in a dark room facing the small balcony door, staring wistfully at the moon which hung in its full splendor on its stage of empty sky. Tir hung his borrowed coat and seated himself beside his friend. "You shouldn't have waited for me."

"I probably shouldn't have taken you from that alley either, but frankly I don't care. You were out late." Sir retorted.

Tir grinned to himself. Nostalgia overwhelmed him. "You act just like him too, you know. I'm not a child anymore. I won't be whisked away into the night, never to return."

Sir sighed and shook his head, closing his sea blue eyes and tossing his golden bangs from side to side. His face was lighted by moonlight, which gave him tons of light blue and pearly white, like a ghost, unfortunately. "No, you aren't, but that doesn't mean you don't need protection against lots of things out there, you know. I'm not condemning you, I just hope you'll be careful. You were in such a hurry."

"I met a friend yesterday, thought that I may be able to meet him again, but found someone else to talk to." Tir said flatly.

Sir smiled. "That's good."

"No, it's not." He replied desperately. His brows furrowed. He was cracking. "It's not good at all. I shouldn't meet these people, I don't want to meet them, because I'll have to forget them and leave them. If I keep on doing that, I'm going to lose myself. I shouldn't have met you, or Ted, or Kasumi. I should just keep to myself, I think I will leave tomorrow."

He made a motion as to leave, but found a strong, steady hand grasped on to his wrist. Sir pulled him back down and said, "That's a horrible way to talk."

"You don't understand at all." Tir hissed, narrowing his eyes. His vision was blurry and his cheeks were wet, and he couldn't possibly fathom why.

"Don't cry." Sir said softly.

Tir broke away from him. "I'm not." He said softly, reaching up and feeling his own tears. Shamefully, he brushed and swiped at them until they went away. "I'm not." He hadn't cried in years, in decades, in centuries. He had no wish to start now. He willed himself to stop crying and resulted in becoming a heap of hiccups, which caused Sir to disappear into the kitchen to bring him a glass of water.

Sir watched him down the whole cup in one gulp. "Don't choke either. Tell me what's wrong."

Breathing heavily and without the courage to face him, Tir said, "My name is Tir. Your name is Gremio, isn't it?" When he received no reply, he demanded louder, "Isn't it? It is, because you're him again. _It_ must have let you out again, _it_ must have let Ted out too, must have decided it would be fun to watch me deal with you two again. You're going to die, you know. You're going to get old and you're going to die!

"When you die, I won't. When you get old, I won't. I'll always be here and live and feed this…this _thing_ inside me. I'm old, do you know that? No, not a child, but more than even an adult. I'm decades, centuries old." Tir shook his head miserably. "But you don't know what I'm talking about, because you don't remember, but I do." With lonely, wide and frightened eyes, Tir held out his ungloved hand. "Look at this, Gremio. This is called the Soul Eater rune."

Gremio stared down into the marred skin, he reached out to touch it, but drew away because the heat surrounding it burned him. Tir smiled at him, but it was a sad, broken smile as he slipped his hand back into its glove. He looked as if his world had just come crashing down, as if all hope had just abandoned him.

Gremio didn't understand, of course, but he wanted so desperately to understand and help and protect Tir from whatever was hurting him so. But he couldn't do anything, couldn't even touch his hand because it burned him. Who was this boy from the alley, the boy who knew his name when he didn't tell him? Who was this boy who claimed he knew about centuries ago, who was so sad and so small-looking as he sat beside him?

"I think I will leave tomorrow."

Help him, he told himself. It doesn't matter what his name is. Protect him.

"What are you doing?" Tir said, eyes dark and wide with shock. Gremio had taken hold of his hand, pulled off the glove, and had pressed his own palm against Tir's. It hurt him, because Gremio's eyes creased with pain. Tir tried to pull away but did so with no avail and merely struggled fruitlessly. "Stop it." Tir cried. "It's hurting you, Gremio."

"Yes, it is." Gremio whispered, voice choked. Suddenly, his voice was very distant, as if it didn't belong to him, but it left his mouth, came from his thoughts. "But it's alright. I don't understand or remember anything, but that's alright too. I will help you, young master."

"You can't help me…"

"Yes, I can, and I will. We will find a way to help you, so everything will be alright. No one will leave you alone anymore if you don't want them to." Gremio flashed a stunning grin eve if his eyes were dark and misty. "So consider yourself protected."

Tir tried to smile with such honest effort that all he could do was cry.


End file.
